


"Dear Jon..."

by LovelySilverwood (Eanna23je)



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst with a Happy Ending, Dear John Letter, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Jonrya Week 2020, Love Letters, Modern Era, POV Arya Stark, POV Jon Snow, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Arya Stark, Protective Starks (ASoIaF)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-23
Updated: 2020-11-05
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:08:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26584891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eanna23je/pseuds/LovelySilverwood
Summary: Five years ago, Jon Snow went to war and never came back. They say he's missing in action, and only Arya refuses to believe he's dead. Estranged from her family, living only to see the places on their list, Arya writes letters she can never send. Until the day Jon comes home...~For Jonrya Week 2020 Summer Day 3 Prompt: Revelation
Relationships: Jon Snow/Arya Stark
Comments: 75
Kudos: 103
Collections: Jonrya Week: Sweet and Spicy Summer





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [oswiin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/oswiin/gifts).



> rev·e·la·tion  
> /ˌrevəˈlāSH(ə)n/  
> 1\. a surprising and previously unknown fact, especially one that is made known in a dramatic way.  
> Similar:  
> declaration  
> admission  
> confession  
> 

> _Dear Jon,_
> 
> _I’m sitting on what feels like the top of the world. The Wall is exactly like we always imagined. Bloody cold, terrifying, and so beautiful I can barely breathe. Or maybe it’s the higher altitude?_
> 
> _Remember when we were little and we used to play the Long Night with Robb and Theon? They never wanted to let me play, and Sansa thought she was far too old to play knights and white walkers. But you switched sides midway through their game and we annihilated their pretend Winterfell._
> 
> _After that day, I knew you would never shut me out like everyone else did. And maybe that day has something to do with why I’m still obsessed with the Wall, trying to see as far north as I can with these silly binoculars._
> 
> _I wish I could tell you it feels like magic and everything we ever dreamed it would._
> 
> _I’m sitting at the top of one of our favorite places, and I wish it didn’t feel so fucking empty without you._
> 
> _Gods, Jon, if this were one of Sansa’s songs, I’d be able to_ feel _if you were really gone, wouldn’t I?_
> 
> _Without you, it’s hard to believe in magic or much of anything._
> 
> _I won’t give up though. I’m going to every single place on our list, even if I have to waitress my way to get there._
> 
> _Sansa doesn’t understand why I won’t come home and “take my place in the family.” But our family is so much smaller, and Winterfell feels more like a tomb than a home._
> 
> _I can’t stand living there without you._
> 
> _I still don’t know how to do this._
> 
> _Will you ever come back to me?_
> 
> _Are you still here?_
> 
> _Would you let me know if you were?_

The frozen winds picked up, fluttering the pages beneath Arya’s hands. She cursed as she hurried to close the journal, in case any of the loose leaves and hand-drawn bookmarks she’d tucked inside earlier that day escaped. 

Relieved that nothing had come free, Arya clutched the leather-bound pages to her chest and leaned against the railing at the top of the Wall with a slow sigh. 

“Excuse me, miss?” the tour guide’s voice called back near the elevator. 

She opened her eyes and snapped, “Give us a fucking minute, yeah?” 

The man’s heavy brow rose in confusion as his gaze darted around her before he held up his hands and angled his head to the elevator. “Last call for the day, miss.”

Arya straightened her spine and narrowed her eyes. “Five more minutes.”

The man swallowed and nodded quickly before backing to a safer distance.

Arya snorted and turned from the far north to face south, and then south-east. Her breath caught as she took in the vast expanse of the North. She couldn’t fathom a time when her ancestors had literally ruled over everything as far as she could see. 

Jon had always been so fascinated with their family history. 

She dipped her head and pressed her mouth to the pages. “One last look.” 

It was something they’d said to one another often as children, and the last thing Jon had said to her before shipping off to war in Essos. 

Prickles of bitterly rooted anger burned as she thought of the pointless war their king had led them to. 

She’d spend one more night at the cheap motel in Molestown before planning her next step. 

Arya released a shuddering breath. 

The setting sun burned her eyes as she tore herself away. 

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Settled once more in her room, Arya opened the journal to the very front page, where she had pasted their list:

**_Places Worth A Look_ **

The Wall

Old Valyria (rent a helicopter?)

~~Harrenhal (what’s left of it)~~

Skull Island

~~The Ruby Ford (ruby hunting?)~~

~~The Isle of Faces~~

House of Black & White (I know it has to still exist somewhere, Jon)

~~The Moon Gate~~

~~Sunspear Water Gardens~~

The Red Keep (okay, fine, we can go there to see your bloody museum)

Arya’s smile faded as she marked through ~~The Wall~~.

“Four more to go,” she whispered. 

Some places on their list would take longer to reach than all she’d managed these past two and half years of traveling. The war in Essos may have “officially” ended, but it would be a dangerous road if she crossed the Narrow Sea. And she couldn’t go as Arya Stark. She’d need to become no one if she wanted to steal the means to track down what happened to her best friend.

The Wall was the closest Arya had come to Winterfell in four years.

Jon had shipped out five years ago for basic training at Storm’s End. 

She wrote letters at first, desperate to hear any news, missing him so much she felt as though her brother had taken half of her with him. 

_Only he’s not your brother anymore. He never was._

She bit down on her lower lip until it stung and leaned over the book laid open in her lap. 

To live half her life believing Jon to be her half-brother, only to discover he wasn’t after Father’s funeral…

Jon wrote her one letter while in basic training, telling her he wouldn’t be able to write overseas and to, “ _please live your life the way you always wanted, little sister. Know that wherever I am, I’m carrying a part of you with me. If the gods are real as Father always claimed, I promise I will come back.”_

Only he hadn’t come back.

 _“Missing in action,”_ the officer had told them, tearing Arya’s world apart at the seams. 

_“...too long...must be dead,”_ her family whispered when they thought she wasn’t listening. 

And _gods_ how angry that made her, the way they tiptoed around her. The way her _mother_ pretended to grieve, when Catelyn had been the reason Jon left. 

Arya left home the day she graduated from secondary school. 

_“You cannot just leave!”_ Catelyn had protested. _“Where will you go?”_

_“Anywhere! Jon was right to get as far away from you as he could!”_

Catelyn had eventually stopped trying to call. 

Arya spoke to Bran and Rickon sparingly. 

And then came the Yule when Sansa ringed to tell her about the car crash that took Catelyn and Robb. 

_“Come home,”_ they’d all begged. 

Arya wouldn’t have made it in time for the funeral, anyway.

At least, that’s what she told herself.

Her ringtone blared and her phone angrily buzzed on the coffee table at her feet. 

She cursed as she saw the name on the caller I.D. Swiping her thumb across the glass surface, she answered, “What?”

A pause, the murmur of other voices in the background, and then her sister’s shaken voice carried through. “Arya, you need to come home right now.”

“What’s happened?”

She held her breath.

“It’s Jon…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Dear Jon..." is dedicated to the lovely Rhaenyra-Snow, who created the most beautiful gif-set for The Red Hood! Thank you so much for all you do for our little corner of the fandom, lovely lady! Despite all you've been through this year, I hope you know how much we appreciate you. Please don't ever stop being wonderful :D
> 
> To everyone else here reading, thank you for your continued kudos, comments, and the extra sunshine you've shed on my days. We've all had a rough 2020, but it's been so lovely to escape a while with each of these events. We'll get through this together, fandom fam :)


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon Snow hasn't been to Winterfell in five years. Arya Stark hasn't been back in nearly two.  
> For years, his family has believed him dead. Now that he's home, can they begin to pick up the pieces?

> _Dear Jon,_
> 
> _I’m sitting on a bus on my way to Winterfell for the first time in two and a half years._
> 
> _24 hours ago I was standing on top of the Wall and missing you so much I couldn’t breathe. And then Sansa called to tell me you were_ home _…_
> 
> _Gods, Jon, I’m so sorry I wasn’t there. All this time, I’ve been scared of going to Essos in case you came back. I never thought I wouldn’t be there when did._
> 
> _Sansa wouldn’t tell me anything about you made it. I’m glad in a way. I’d rather it come from you than anyone else._
> 
> _I know I shouldn’t be, but I’m scared._
> 
> _I’ve wanted this, dreamed of this for so long, and now that the day’s finally come, I’m terrified._
> 
> _How can I begin to tell you all I swore I would confess? It’s been five years, Jon…_
> 
> _If I was more bloody romantic, I’d tell myself you’d still want me, even if no one else will._
> 
> _But will you, Jon?_
> 
> _You always thought I was braver than I was, but am I really brave enough to tell you the truth?_
> 
> _I wanted you to be alive all this time so badly. I refused to listen when they told me to let go. And now that you_ are _alive, now that I’m about to see you, I can’t help but wonder._
> 
> _If it was easier for me to love you when I didn’t have to face the horror of telling you._

By the time the taxi she’d taken from Wintertown pulled up to Winterfell Manor’s gates, Arya couldn’t stop shaking. She knew it was a shitty case of adrenaline and raw nerves, that she needed to calm the hells down before she faced the family she’d abandoned. 

_Don’t think about it, stupid. You’re making this worse._

Arya closed her eyes as the taxi rolled to a stop by the gatehouse.

An awkward caught and strained, “Miss? You getting out here or not?” 

Arya glared at the man and dragged her pack over her shoulder. “Of course I’m getting out.” 

The gruff giant grunted as she tossed the bills at him and climbed out with more confidence than she felt. 

The taxi didn’t wait around for her after, but Arya stood frozen beside the gatehouse, staring up at the nearby windows of Winterfell Manor. 

“It’s easy,” she whispered. “Just pick up your damned feet, Stark. Walk in, and whatever you do, don’t let her get to you.” 

Her sister had been putting the guilt on Arya for years, ever since Mother and Robb passed, really. Arya couldn’t blame her really, but it didn’t make her sister’s passive-aggressive statements any easier to bear. 

Something moved in her periphery, but when Arya glanced up at the windows, there was nothing but the empty rooms of her family’s ancestral home. 

She entered the side door that led to the kitchens. An informal dining area had been one of the Stark children’s usual gathering places. Sure enough, the area was empty save what remained of her family. 

Sansa and Bran sat at the dining table, speaking together in hushed tones. Rickon, lanky and towering over her by at least a foot, sat on the floor next to his pet wolf, Shaggy. Her littlest brother was the first to notice her and surge to his feet.

“Arya!”

“Oof!” she gasped as Rick lifted her off her feet into his arms with a relieved laugh.

“Gods, you look like a street drifter. When’s the last time you had a bath, big sis?”

Arya growled as she kicked his shin, satisfied he set her down so she could also punch his shoulder. “That’s no way to speak to a woman, you little shit.” 

Rick winced but he looked down at her with a matching wicked grin. She was also glad to note his Tully-red hair was much more muddied than their other two siblings. This one had more Stark in him, she was happy to see. 

Rickon’s smile turned to a grimace as he glanced over Arya’s shoulder and she sighed. 

“Arya,” Sansa greeted as she gathered Arya into a too-tight embrace. All her sister’s infamous ice-queen demeanor melted to something closer to the way she’d looked when they first learned Father’s diagnosis. 

“San,” Arya returned with a squeeze of her sister’s arm. “Where is he?”

Bran cleared his throat and leaned on his cane as he approached them with a relieved, “Thank gods you’re here, Arya.” 

Her frown deepened as she took in the wary glances her siblings shared. A clawing sense of panic crept up the back of her neck and made her tone harsher than she intended. “Where is Jon?”

Sansa flinched and Arya narrowed her gaze at her sister. “Don’t make me ask again, San.” 

“He,” she paused, licked her lips, and then began again. “Jon’s not well, Arya.” 

Her nails dug painful crescents into her palms as she ground out, “What do you mean, _not well?_ Is he injured? Sick? Damn it, just tell me!” 

Rickon placed one heavy hand on Arya’s shoulder, the other on Shaggy’s head. “We are telling you, Arry.”

“We don’t know exactly what happened.” Sansa wrung her hands together and turned away. “Jon wouldn’t say much, just that he was honorably discharged and wants to be left alone.”

“The war office called first,” Bran added in a low tone. “They said Jon just appeared at the embassy in Braavos one day and told them who he was. He wouldn’t say what happened, but the officer I spoke with said he was covered in bullet wounds.”

Arya clenched her jaw and her nails dug deeper. Rickon’s grip on her shoulder tightened as she interrupted, “ _Stop_. Just...tell me where he is, Bran.” She hated the compassion on her little brother’s stoic face. 

“I picked him up at the airport,” he finally said, “and the first thing Jon asked when we came home was where you were.”

She ducked her head, hiding behind her loose hair. She desperately longed to slice it off at the shoulders again. Now she was glad it kept the others from seeing her agony. 

“Where is he, Rick,” she said, turning her back on Sansa and Bran. 

Her tall brother looked far older than 18 as he nodded his head to the open hall. “His old room.” 

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Arya didn’t waste time in snatching up her pack and ignored the lift in exchange for the nearest set of stairs that would take her towards the third floor. 

She needed the climb to dry her tears and pull herself back together. 

The house was too quiet, and still felt inhabited by ghosts, but Arya ignored them as she opened the door to the third floor and paused to catch her breath. 

Rickon’s comment still bothered her. She hadn’t thought about how she looked at all on the ride from Molestown. She ran a conscious hand through her hair, then set her pack against her childhood bedroom door. 

The floor lightly creaked as Arya crossed the final distance to her brother’s door.

_He wasn’t your brother, not really._

Her hand shook as she reached to grasp the door handle. 

It wasn’t locked. 

So many nights after he’d left, Arya would sneak in to look through his things, to sleep in his bed. She’d stolen some of his favorite shirts when she left home, hoping to keep a piece of his smell, a piece of _Jon_ close to her. 

She drew in a deep breath as she opened the door, then blinked in confusion. 

No lights had been lit, and a cool breeze stirred the once-stale air. 

The only source of light left was peeking through the open window between Jon’s bed and desk. The same window she’d often climbed through after her nightmares, begging him to let her sleep over.

Arya closed the door behind her and waited for her eyes to adjust to the dimness. A shadow shifted by the window and she opened her mouth. No sound came out, and the sob welling at her throat would not do at all. 

_Get your shit together, Stark._

Arya closed her eyes, breathed slowly in and out the way Syrio Forel once taught her. Her nerves settled, and her voice cut softly through the heavy silence. “Jon?” 

The shadow jerked and the silhouette of the man who used to be her brother turned to face her, shoulders heaving. 

Arya gaped as the light from the window revealed a dark beard on a scarred face. His long hair was tied tightly behind his head, and he seemed both larger and so much older, haggard...lost.

She drew in a desperate breath when she remembered to breathe again. 

Jon opened his mouth and the pained emptiness in his gray eyes was what made her move. 

She barely noticed when she tripped over something on the floor on her way to him. 

And then she was _there_. 

Jon was _here_ , staring down at her, looking nearly a stranger. His nostrils flared and the cold emptiness in his eyes was invaded by a flash of intensity. 

Arya threw her arms around his neck, pulling him down into her embrace before she could think better of it.

He remained stiff, frozen. A pained grunt sounded against her neck, but Arya held fast and whispered his name with a smile. 

And then, just when she began to believe she’d made an awful mistake, his trembling arms wrapped around her back. One hand clenched at her waist, and the other mussed her unruly hair. 

Her sob escaped as a laugh. He was touching her, holding her. 

_He’s not broken. They were wrong._

Jon’s arms suddenly tightened and he crushed her up against him in a desperate embrace.

As though from a distance, she realized he was speaking, his beard brushing against her neck as his muffled words met her ears, “...beautiful and I can’t...so sorry, little sister...gods, I swear, I’ll never leave you again.”

She wrapped her legs around his waist without a thought and clutched his shoulders as tightly as she could. “Never again,” she agreed, and all fears over her promise, and the things she was afraid to say faded away in his arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Jonrya Summer, friends! I know most of us are already in a "fall state of mind," and I wasn't sure if I'd have time to enter this season's event. But the idea for this story wouldn't leave me alone, and I had promised some exceptional smut to a friend ;) Speaking of smut, I hope you're ready to hang with me on the angst train a while longer. I promise it will be worthwhile <3 Happy reading!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon is home, and it is enough for Arya, so long as he stays with her...

> _Dear Jon,_
> 
> _Is this a dream?_
> 
> _It’s been five days since I’ve been home, since we’ve been together._
> 
> _You promised me you’d never leave me, but I didn’t know you meant it literally. We’ve barely spent five minutes apart and no matter how strange it feels to not be alone anymore, I won’t ever complain. Because I’ve been_ alone _, Jon. For too long. And for the first time in five years, I can honestly say I’m happy._
> 
> _I didn’t expect you to follow me into my room the first night after family dinner. It was hilarious, the way Sansa’s eyes bugged when you came down with me, holding my hand._
> 
> _They all act like you’re made of fucking glass around here, but I know better. I know it’s just you needing me close. I don’t mind if you hold my hand, Jon._
> 
> _Gods, if only you know just how much I don’t mind it._
> 
> _I wonder if the others think I’m selfish, for hiding away with you everywhere?_
> 
> _You still haven’t told me why you don’t like being around anyone else. You haven’t said much at all, in fact, now that I think on it. And that’s okay, Jon._
> 
> _I don’t need you to speak. I just need you to_ be _._
> 
> _You asked me questions instead, about where I’ve been, the things I’ve done and seen. I love the way you smiled when I confessed I’d just come from the Wall._
> 
> _I haven’t found the courage to tell you all of it, though. That I’d been working on our list all this time. It’s so stupid, I don’t know why I can’t just_ say _it._
> 
> _Okay, I’m a liar, I know why._
> 
> _It’s because I love you, Jon._
> 
> _I love you so much more than I should, and I know that’s not what you need right now. You need me to be your little sist—cousin, and I’m good at that. I make you smile. I even made you laugh with that story about running from those sheep with Hot Pie and Gendry._
> 
> _I’d do anything to see you smile, you know, anything to make you happy. If you’ll only give me all your quiet moments and your careful touches, that will be enough for me._
> 
> _Maybe one day, we can finish the list together?_
> 
> _If only I—_

The echo of shouts down the hall paused her pen. Arya frowned as she looked up from her hidden corner in the library. 

Jon hadn’t been awake yet when she last checked, and these early mornings had become the only time she could sneak away to write. 

It was stupid, that she couldn’t bring herself to stop writing. He was physically _here_ now, not only in her journal and the places she’d seen. She should be telling him all these things.

 _That’s not what he needs,_ she told herself.

Something heavy fell in what sounded like the kitchen. And then another voice rose to shout, “Don’t!” 

_Jon?_

Her journal lay forgotten as she jumped to her feet and raced toward the growing sounds of an argument. 

She slid to a stop before the open kitchen door and froze. 

Someone had knocked most of the contents from the kitchen island off onto the floor. 

Jon clutched his head in his hands, hair a loose disarray while his chest heaved.

Rickon had his arms spread wide, face red as he said, “Why did you even come back, Jon? All you’ve done since you came home is hide away and _ignore us_ when we try to speak to you. And you know, that’s fucking fine, go ahead and pretend Arya’s the only one who matters. It’s not like we haven’t been through hell since you left!”

“Rick…” Sansa slowly reached for their little brother.

“No, San! He doesn’t get to fucking ignore us anymore.” Rick reeled back on Jon and jabbed a finger. “Everything fell apart when you left! And then Arya barely waited five minutes before running away and breaking what was left of Mum’s heart. Maybe if you two hadn’t left, she and Robb wouldn’t have been out that night...”

Rick choked on a sob and Sansa’s hands caught his shoulders. 

An acute pain pierced through Arya’s chest, the emotion coursing through her visceral.

Jon’s arms slowly lowered into clenched fists at his side. The scars on his face stood out in the morning light streaming through the curtains. Where Rickon had been hot rage, Jon faced him with frozen fire. 

“Hate me all you want,” he began, his voice still hoarse from disuse. “Blame me for your problems, Rickon, but don’t you _ever_ blame Arya.”

“You still don’t get it!” Rick laughed, and bitterness aged his youthful features. “All we want is to be a _family_ again, Jon. Maybe think about it once you pull your head out of your arse.”

“ _Rickon,_ that’s enough,” Sansa interrupted. 

Rick threw his hands up and looked around the room before his eyes caught Arya’s through the open door. His mouth twisted into a grimace. “Why don’t you try asking Arya what she gave up after you left.”

Arya gasped and covered her mouth but it was too late.

Jon twisted and his grey eyes—cast a dark violet in the early morning light—found her. 

Her feet moved before she could catch up. 

Jon reached for her. Something cracked beneath his steps, but he scattered broken kitchenware across the tile floor, uncaring. 

Arya shook her head as she stumbled back another step.

“I can’t,” she rasped.

 _I can’t,_ her mind echoed.

She ran.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Jon couldn’t think or breathe without feeling like a stranger in his own skin. 

_“Why did you come back?”_

Rickon’s accusations rang in his ears as he searched the manor. 

_She was terrified,_ he thought with a pang. 

Jon was aware he’d come back _wrong_ , and for so long he’d forgotten how to care. 

He hadn’t been fully aware of why he’d been so desperate to come to Winterfell the moment he’d escaped prison and begged and stole his way across the world. 

Not until Arya’s arms were wrapped around his neck, holding him as if nothing had changed.

_She ran from me…_

Jon had been living a stranger in his own skin, a ghost in his childhood home, except when he was around _her._

She’d been what kept him sane through combat, capture, and years of torture. 

Rickon had been right about some things. Jon couldn’t bring himself to care about much of anything.

_Except for her._

Around Arya, he could finally breathe again—feel again. And now he feared breaking her the way he seemed to break everything else in his life. 

As he returned to the house from the empty godswood, Jon hated himself for the terror he’d glimpsed in her eyes and wished he knew what to say to her. 

_It would be easy if I didn’t feel for her the way I do._

Jon’s steps slowed as he entered the library. He knew she came here most mornings for privacy. He always pretended to sleep when she snuck from their shared bed. The first three mornings he’d followed her down, just to make sure she was really _there_ , safe, and not a symptom of his insanity. 

Gods, he needed her to be real now. 

“Arya?” He hated the way his vocal cords struggled to speak. Being strangled too often had that effect.

Jon sighed as he reached her special nook only to find it empty.

He sank into her chair with a sigh and hung his head in his hands. 

Where else could she be? He’d already tried the places they’d haunted as children and this past week together. Which only meant one thing—the worst possibility. 

She didn’t want him to find her. 

He dug his blunt nails into his scalp and forced his breaths to lengthen and even out. It wouldn’t do to have a panic attack now. He needed to focus and _think_.

As always, images of Arya flashed through his mind’s eye, the girl she had been, the young woman he’d begun to feel things he shouldn’t for. 

_Catelyn knew_.

It had been in the way his step-mother sneered at them, and eventually, her ultimatum.

_“Leave now, so she can have a chance at a normal life.”_

Going into the army hadn’t just been partly because of Catelyn’s hatred, and partly because of what he learned the day Ned died.

 _“Your mother was Lyanna Stark,”_ Ned had written in the letter given to Jon after the funeral.

Arya had found him in the crypts, crying in front of his birth mother’s grave. When he hadn’t been able to tell her aloud, she’d read the letter, then thrown her arms about him and said, _“It doesn’t matter. It won’t change anything, Jon. You’re still mine _,_ no matter what.” _

He’d almost kissed her for that, and the fear of _wanting_ so desperately, the last excuse for burying his feelings for her suddenly _gone_ …

Jon froze as he opened his eyes and saw the upturned book on the floor. 

He reached to pick it and the pen up. He turned the book over to find its pages covered in Arya’s handwriting. Slips of leaves and bookmarks made from what looked like _his_ old sketches. 

Jon’s heart caught in his throat as he caught the words, repeated over and over across dozens of pages:

_"Dear Jon...”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter, yay! I wasn't sure I could get another out so quickly, but I'm attempting to write this one out while it's all still fresh in my mind. I've absolutely loved everyone's kudos and comments, thank you! Your enthusiasm keeps me going :) I plan on going back through this whole fic once I finish and polishing things up, so apologies for any minor errors. Speaking of finishing, we're building up to the "smut that was promised" so hang in there friends ;) Also, there's a very high chance this will go beyond five chapters, much as I've tried to contain myself this time, lol. Happy reading!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The last thing Jon ever expects is to find her letters to him...

> _Dear Jon,_
> 
> _You left seven weeks ago. I tried writing letters to you while you were in basic, but you never answered. Until you wrote to ask me_ not _to write back, that it was impossible where you’re going._
> 
> _I stole this journal from your stash. I think it was a Yule present from Uncle Benjen and meant for sketching, but I don’t care. I’m going to give it back anyway, you’ll see._
> 
> _I decided, if you won’t let me write you, I’m going to write all the letters I would have sent in here. That way, when you come home, I can give them to you all at once. I’m shit at writing, of course, but you already knew that. And I don’t care, because I know you’ll want to hear what I have to say, anyway, won’t you?_
> 
> _Jon, you’ve always_ ever _been the only one who really listened when I spoke._
> 
> _Who else will listen now?_

> _Dear Jon,_
> 
> _I’ve found that old list we made, remember? The one where we wrote all the places we’re going to see together some day. Well, I thought I could stick it here and when you come back, we can work our way through it together. Unless you’ve already broken our rule and gone to see one of our places in Essos._
> 
> _I like to pretend where you aren’t isn’t very scary, and that you aren’t doing things that could get you killed. I need to pretend, Jon, so I can keep these letters from being heavy as hells. I don’t want to make you think about wherever it is and whatever you’ve seen, though._
> 
> _And I swear to the old gods, if you_ did _break our rule, well tough shit. You’re still taking me one day, when all this is over._
> 
> _Won’t you, Jon?_

He traced scarred fingers over the list they’d made, over the lines she'd drawn over the places she’d been. She had just come from the Wall when the family called her, she'd said.

“Gods,” he choked as he drew his hand into a fist and forced air back through his lungs. It took effort too often, for Jon to remember how to live. 

He flipped back to where he’d left off and continued to read, skimming over her lighter banter and memories as he picked up more and more the things she tried not to say:

> _It’s Yule, the first I’ve spent without you. Sansa and Catelyn keep singing while they bake, and dance, and decorate. I’ve been hiding in your room—your closet really—and I don’t know how much longer I can keep from screaming._

> _The arguments keep happening, no matter how much I try to make them happy. They want me to act like nothing has changed, like my entire world hasn’t gone to shit with you and Father gone. But I can’t keep pretending for them much longer, Jon._

> _I feel like I’m suffocating. How much longer until you come home?_

> _I’m not taking the fucking fencing scholarship. I know Syrrio’s disappointed. I know Father paid for all those lessons. I know what it means to be offered a full fucking ride to the school in Braavos. But **I. Am. Not. Going**. _
> 
> _I won’t go to Braavos without you, Jon. I don’t care if that makes me selfish like Sansa says. I made a promise to you forever ago. I’m not breaking our rule. One day, you will come back, and we’ll go to Braavos together. That is_ my _promise to you, Jon._
> 
> _Please be careful, and don’t do anything too damn honorable. Come back to me._

> _I finally did it! I packed my back last night and hid it in your closet so no one would know. Catelyn shit a brick, of course, but she should have known this was coming. They only ever see what they want to see, and I’m not living like this anymore, Jon._
> 
> _Mycah is coming with me. He has family in King’s Landing, and agreed to give me a lift. That’s where I’m going to start._
> 
> _I know what we said, I know what I’ve promised, but I need to do this before I go crazy. So I’m going to work through our list, as much as I can._
> 
> _I only stole a little money, enough to help pay for gas and food. I’ll waitress, or work in an auto shop, I don’t care what the hells it is, so long as it means freedom._
> 
> _It should have been you, Jon._
> 
> _I wish so much it was you sitting next to me in this car._

Jon wiped the tears from his face and smiled as he read the next few entries of her escapade to King’s Landing, meeting and traveling with Gendry and Hot Pie. She’d always been able to make him laugh, and here and there she’d pasted or tucked plants, concert stubs, wrappers, and photos to catalog her journey. 

She’d lied when she said she couldn’t write because her letters brought him fully _there_.

But he’d always been biased when it came to Arya Stark. 

His smile fell as he read the next letter, one-third of the way through the book. 

> _Dear Jon…_
> 
> _I don’t know how to begin._
> 
> _Robb and Cat—_
> 
> _They’re gone. Car wreck on the way to pick up Robb’s girlfriend from the airport._
> 
> _I wasn’t there._
> 
> _I was backpacking on the Isle of Faces, praying to the trees to let me dream of you._
> 
> _I didn’t get my messages until three days later, and it’s too late to make it to the funeral in time._
> 
> _Rickon cried on the phone and—Jon I think I may be a terrible person._
> 
> _Because all I could think at first was to thank the gods it wasn’t_ you _._
> 
> _And now all I can think about is why we haven’t heard any news about your unit in weeks. Trust me, I found a person who’s been helping me keep track, and I don’t care if it’s not exactly legal. I don’t fucking care._
> 
> _If losing my mother and Robb has taught me anything, it’s that I’m done with caring about what other people will think. Okay, scratch that. What I mean to say is I very much care what_ you _think. But not knowing where you are, or when you’ll come home, I won’t pretend anymore._
> 
> _I won’t pretend I don’t care more for you than I should. More than a sister should._
> 
> _Fuck, this is so hard to write, thank gods I’m not telling you in person._
> 
> _But I need you to understand one thing, Jon, this one thing above all others. The one truth I have left to cling to is how much I_ **_love you_ ** _._
> 
> _I love you Jon, I always have. All my life, it’s only ever been you._
> 
> _And I know how that looks and sounds to most people. And I’m terrified you’ll read this and be disgusted, too. That you’ll be desperately thinking up ways to save my feelings. Well, guess what? I don’t care._
> 
> _No matter what you say, or do. No matter how long it takes you to come home—because you will, Jon, I believe that—I will always love you._
> 
> _I couldn’t stop if I wanted, and gods know, I’ve tried, for_ their _sake. No more._
> 
> _We’re only guaranteed this one life, Jon Snow._
> 
> _No matter if you love me as much as I love you, I fully intend to spend the rest of my life with you._

Jon nearly dropped the letters in his haste to stand. 

The book pinched his hand from holding its pages too tightly as he stumbled to his feet and ran. 

He didn’t bother controlling his breathing, only listened to the need that would bring him to her. 

They had finished each other’s sentences once upon a time. 

There had been a time when they had known each other so intrinsically, Jon knew something in him would break without her. Leaving and living so long without her nearly had. 

She had been the last thought he had when the bullets poked him full of holes. She had been the first thing he woke, knowing he should be dead.

Their rooms were still empty. 

Jon ran to the courtyard and took a sharp turn to the only other place he hadn’t looked, her final entry repeating in his mind with every breath.

The gate to the crypts was cracked open. 

He moved soundlessly inside the one place Jon had avoided since coming home. 

_You should have been dead, too_ , he thought as he passed the freshest graves of Catelyn and Robb. 

He’d avoided thinking too much about Robb since coming home. The knowledge of his brother’s death was still too painful. 

His heart seized as he found Arya seated with a hand on her father’s statue, staring up into Lyanna Stark’s stone-wrought face. 

The backlights lit the room from below and behind the graves, spilling far into the distance and back in time to the Winter Kings of old. 

Jon clenched his teeth as he took in the dried tear tracks on her cheeks.

_She ran…_

His need to see her had only twisted into a burning urge to touch her, hold her, kiss her _—_ consume her whole. 

Arya’s expression pinched and then her shoulders stiffened as she turned to find him watching her. 

Her beautiful gray eyes widened and her lips parted as she drew increasingly shallow breaths. 

Jon cleared his throat, clutching the journal closer to his chest and watched as her gaze fixated to her letters. “Arya...”

“Oh, gods,” she groaned.

Panic laced his frozen veins as she scrambled to her feet and poised to run _—_ again.

“Wait!” His plea cut harsh and too-loud in the sacred space, and both of them winced. 

Arya bit her lower lip and Jon pushed aside the desire this stirred. 

“Please,” Jon began again, finding one hand reaching for her, two strides closer but still not touching. 

_Not nearly enough_.

Arya’s hand wandered from her heart to grip her throat and tangle in her hair. Jon followed the desperate movement and the need to close the distance farther was nearly unbearable. He swallowed and she interrupted before words failed him again. 

“Did you read it?” Her voice trembled, pitched higher than her aged gaze. 

Jon drew in a fortifying breath, and smiled as he said, “Yes.” 

She closed her eyes as though in pain. “How far did you get?”

Jon took another step, then froze as Arya tensed, opening her eyes to watch him warily. “I didn’t finish,” he added, desperate to ease her fears. 

Arya covered her face with her hands and shook her head. “Gods, the library. I left it in the library. So _stupid_ ,” she growled. 

He couldn’t bear it any longer. 

She startled as he wrapped a hand around her wrist and gently pulled it away. Her flushed cheeks were gorgeous in the liminal light. 

He knew she was afraid the same way he’d once been able to predict her words, but Jon needed to know. “Why didn’t you give them to me sooner?”

Arya had frozen under his unexpected touch, her wrist still trapped in his hand, her other arm trapped between their chests. He hadn’t realized he’d moved so closely until her breath teased his chin as she tilted her head. 

_Still not enough._

Her grey eyes shone with fresh tears as she whispered, “I was afraid.”

She looked up at him as though certain she had let him down, while hope seared through his formerly dead limbs, infusing him with a vigor he’d thought lost. 

“Afraid of what?” he asked, his nose grazing lightly over hers. 

Her eyelashes fluttered as she replied, “Of losing you.”

_I love you, Jon._

The words seared in his mind seemed to merge with the fear and desire in her dark irises. 

Ten years, he’d loved her like this. A little more every day, a little piece of who he’d expected to be was lost to her. He’d give up whatever remained to her.

_I've always belonged to her._

Jon kept the book in the hand he drew around her slight waist. The other, he used to tilt her head deeper as he pressed his forehead against hers, hard enough to feel the pinch. 

_Never enough._

“You will never lose me, my love,” he groaned as he _finally_ pressed his lips to hers in a bruising kiss. 

He swallowed her surprised cry, fingertips dragging through her dark hair and tangling to draw her even closer. 

She didn’t remain frozen in his arms for long. 

Her hands were small but as strong as his, as she dragged fingers through his loose hair and tugged him painfully closer. 

Jon moaned to feel her fingers in his hair, her tongue tracing his lips, her stomach pressed to his growing desire. 

She shuddered as he couldn’t help leaving her lips to kiss her nose, her eyelids, the arch of her expressive brow, all the places he’d only dared love her in his mind. 

“Oh, _gods_ , Jon,” she mumbled in his ear, and this made him clutch her tighter, latch his mouth over the pulse in her neck, lathe his tongue over her skin. 

_Gods, yes..._

Her nipple pebbled beneath his wandering hand and Jon groaned with the knowledge she hadn’t put on a bra. 

He sank to his knees, ignoring her protest, to draw the taught peak into his mouth through her shirt. 

“Oh, _fuck_ ,” she moaned. 

Her soft cry, her nails digging into his shoulders, everything about her was _perfect_. 

He was so hard now, the ache was almost too much. Touching her like this was too much, and not enough, and Jon was losing all sense of self. He ignored the cold stone floor and the letters in his hand now digging into her back, too lost in _her_.

His free hand grasped her hip as he shifted his attention to her other breast, and slowly slipped his fingers beneath the hem of her shirt. 

He released her breast, panting and staring at the wet spots on the pale gray fabric clinging to swollen nipples. His cock twitched in his pants, and Jon looked up until he caught Arya’s needful gaze. 

“Jon,” she said with wonder. 

The ache in his chest returned, the wounds he’d taken in an effort to escape, to get back to _her_. 

“Come to bed with me, Arya,” he begged.

He hated the way it sounded like a demand. He wanted her to know she had this choice. He never wanted to force his feelings on her. He should be _telling_ her his feelings, but Jon couldn’t think clearly. Not now that he knew the words neither of them could say. 

Somehow, it felt safer to leave it unsaid. 

Arya’s hands drifted from his shoulders to his beard, her thumb grazing his parted lips. 

His heart nearly stopped as she finally nodded. “Yes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaaand here we are! Next chapter will have all the glorious smut that was promised ;p But seriously, I hope you enjoyed every moment of this. Happy reading!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She knew she wasn't ready to share this with anyone else.

From the moment he first touched her with desperate lips and ardent hands, Arya was unmade. 

She was no longer the broken creature she’d been before, the one forced to live on _without_ Jon. 

His kisses filled every crack his absence had created, and Arya couldn't get enough. She found absolution in his touches and kisses, in the certainty he wanted her just as much as she needed him. 

They had barely reached the side door by the garage before Jon caught her by the waist, and beckoned her into his frame to press needful kisses along her shoulder. 

Arya gasped and bit back a moan as her grip tightened over her letters to Jon at her chest. Her body hummed beneath his lips and blood coursed through her, a persistent pulse between her legs. 

She twisted into his arms to anchor against the length of him, relishing the way they came together like twin pieces of a cracked whole. 

Jon walked them back until her head knocked against the wall beside the door and swallowed her moans with searing kisses. 

Arya pushed a crushed hand between them to rub against the bulge straining Jon’s sleep pants. He released her mouth to bite down at her neck with a groan.

His hand shook as he lifted her shirt, then slipped his free hand down her shorts. Long, reckless fingers caressed her inner lips, spreading her juices over her swollen nub.

She struggled to tame her breath as she arched against Jon’s hand to match his rhythm. 

_Gods,_ she had never been this wet in her life, and they still had their clothes on... 

“Tell me what you want, Arya,” Jon grunted against her ear. 

His hips rolled and she gasped at the weight of him, at the way he moved his fingers in time with his thrusts against her palm. 

“What do you need, love?”

Arya shuddered. “Just you.”

Jon slipped a finger into her moist heat. His lips caught her next gasp as his words fell over her in a divine rush. “I want to make love to you...I want to _ruin_ you for anyone else. I want you to be mine.” 

“Yours,” she keened.

A nearby door slammed from the other side of the house. 

They froze.

The sound of heavy footsteps, and voices. _Rickon_. Eventually, the turn of an engine. 

Arya snorted as she met Jon’s heated gaze. He didn’t seem to notice or care about who it was, or the fact that if they drove onto the road, they would be able to see this side of the house. This sobered Arya, because she wasn't sure if _she_ was ready. She knew she wasn't ready to share this with anyone else.

“We should go inside,” she whispered. 

Jon’s mouth curled slightly at the corners as he pressed more fully into her. “Should we?” 

Arya gasped as he slowly slid a second finger past her entrance. She pressed her back against the old stone and arched against his hand as her thighs clenched around his hand. 

Tires dragged over the driveway and Arya’s breath hitched. “Jon,” she warned, but couldn’t think beyond the sparks dancing along her veins, or the way she came so fully alive as his touch took on new urgency. 

She forced her eyes open as her inner walls pulsed and a surge of wetness coursed over his fingers. 

Jon’s heavy gaze dragged from hers to where they were still joined.

He curled his fingers again and Arya nearly cried as aftershocks rippled through her. “ _Jon_ , please,” she hissed. 

The front gate slowly creaked open. 

His gaze met hers and his smile grew as he fumbled for the doorknob. 

They barely came apart as they fell inside the hall with hushed laughter. 

She leaned against him, unable to keep her hands from fluttering over his scarred arms, his chiseled, too-thin chest. 

Arya’s giggles stuttered as Jon slipped his fingers into his mouth to taste her.

Her fingertips came to rest over his slowly beating heart. How could his heart beat like that when hers felt ready to burst from her chest? How could he seem so calm and look at her like that? 

Something flashed behind Jon’s dark gaze, as though he could read her thoughts. Arya took a step back and Jon followed until she stumbled over wellies and boots, and they became shrouded in a curtain of coats from the hall closet. 

Jon’s hand caught Arya’s waist and drew her back into his orbit. His forehead pressed into hers as he clutched the corner of her letters to him, and he gently pinned her hip with his arousal. “You taste...perfect,” he groaned and stole her reply with a lingering kiss. 

Any of her siblings could walk in on them here, and the wicked thought only heightened her need for him. Arya slipped her hand beneath his shirt, eager to feel all of him, needing in a way she’d never allowed herself to need anyone. Words passed her lips, unintelligible.

Jon pushed her hair back from her fevered skin and kissed her furrowed brow. “What is it, love? Tell me.”

Arya’s breath stuttered as his thumb pressed against her swollen lower lip. Their eyes met, grey on grey. “T-take me to your bed?” 

A flash of white teeth and then he did the last thing she expected. Jon bent to press kisses over her shirt, the dip of the valley between her breasts, before catching one taut peak between careful teeth.

Arya’s arms slipped around his neck, her letters digging against his shoulder. “Jon?” 

His arms flexed as he caught the backs of her thighs, then straightened, lifting her against his chest in one effortless movement. 

Arya hovered slightly above him and ducked as he backed through the closet threshold. The hall was still empty, enough for her to feel free enough to smack his back and squeeze her legs around his waist. “Jon Snow, are you trying to manhandle me?” 

His near-silent laughter puffed against the back of her neck. “Let me take care of you, love.”

Arya pressed her lips into his shoulder blade, thankful he couldn’t see the tears in her eyes. No one took care of her. She hadn’t allowed them, not even Gendry, and he'd come the closest to breaking the wall around her heart. 

But everything from the care behind Jon’s tone, and in his firm grasp, the weight of his arms at her back, made every empty night worth it. _This_ is what she had been waiting for all her life. 

_Does he know?_

Did he know how she would gladly do it all again, so long as it led them back to _this_ moment? 

Jon steadily carried her upstairs to the family floor, only pausing once more to shift Arya’s weight to one arm while he opened his bedroom door. 

She helped him close and lock it. 

The solid click echoed in the quiet room. A cool breeze billowed his curtains in, the only source of light. 

Jon held Arya’s weight between him and the door, and in the shadows, she nearly missed the tears slipping down his cheeks. 

“Arya,” he breathed her name and she dropped his letters on his nearby desk before taking his face in her hands. 

She brushed his tears aside and the well of emotion threatened to pull her under completely.

Arya pushed the urge aside to say, “Make love to me, Jon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, okay, so before you riot, I wanted to assure you that the next chapter IS coming later this week. I can't leave you guys on a cliffie like THAT. I hope you enjoyed the update, meanwhile! I really wanted to focus in on the little moments, and the intimacy between them for this chapter, especially after all Arya has been through in this fic. Next chapter we'll have much, much more, and all from Jon's POV <3 Happy reading!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You’re perfect,” he said.

Every sleepless night, every moment his enemies sought to break him, every endless day he’d spent fighting his way home, came down to _this_.

Arya’s soft milky skin, and the way it pebbled beneath his careful and not-so-careful touch. 

Her sighs against his ear, and the way her fingers dug into his back as Jon slowly stripped her clothes from her lithe body. 

The curves he had felt long ago when it had been forbidden to even _think_ of her like this, he greedily palmed and traced with his lips and tongue. 

He had dreamed of this. 

In the darkest hells of where he had been after his capture and the mindless drudge of fighting in the streets, Jon could close his eyes and still see her face. 

Her silvery-gray eyes, a slight shade darker than his, brimming with joy because of _him_.

He had barely paused long enough to take her gaze in, as he allowed her to strip his shirt and pants. 

As they stood naked before each other for the first time, all Jon could think of was the taste of her on his lips, and how he yearned to bring her to completion again and again.

“I want to taste you,” he said aloud.

Arya shuddered and her hands slid from her muscular thighs to pass over her flat stomach, shifting nervously.

Jon dragged his gaze to meet hers then and clenched his fists to will himself from springing upon her now. 

_Patience_.

He had waited this long, and he wanted her to want this— _him—_ as badly as he’d always wanted her. 

_She needs to be sure._

Arya drew in a shuddering breath and the longing in her grey eyes mirrored his. Still, she said, “I’m not sure what to do…”

Jon’s breath caught with elation and awe. “You waited?”

She nodded, shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “I wanted this with _you_ ,” she whispered.

“Arya…” Jon couldn’t wait any longer. 

He caught her the moment she leaped into his arms. Her legs wound around his waist as Jon stumbled backward. They tumbled onto the mattress, Arya on top as he preferred. 

“I need to see you,” came his rushed demand. 

Arya rose to sit back against him, enough for Jon to cover her breasts with his warm palms. “Oh gods,” she moaned as his erection met her wet folds. 

Jon growled as he resisted the urge to roll his hips. “I need you to come undone again first.”

Arya moaned again at his words, her gaze latching onto his as she ran her hands down his shoulders. 

She froze as her fingers found evidence of the torture Jon had endured, the scars he’d always bare. “Jon,” his name passed her lips with a broken cry. 

“No, love, please don’t.” Jon sat up until she sat nestled against him. His cock pulsed with need Jon pushed aside to cup her cheek and press his forehead to hers. 

Tears welled in her luminous eyes as she caught his wrist and shook her head. “I should have gone to Braavos. I should have fucking looked for you. Jon...I am s-so sorry!” 

He kissed her cheeks, salty tears caught on his lips as he murmured, “Don’t be sorry. You don’t _ever_ get to feel sorry for me, Arya. I left. It was _my fault_ , never yours.”

He’d never tell her that the only reason he’d been caught was because he’d slipped away from his unit in the night. Being away from Arya had been unbearable, and when his commander laid out their next mission, going so far as to call it a “suicide raid,” Jon had not hesitated.

He had more than paid the price, of course. 

He’d do it all again, just for _this_.

“I love that you wrote me letters,” Jon said as he traced her spine and clutched possessively at her waist. 

Her breath hitched, and she blinked back her surprise.

“I love that you waited,” he groaned and shifted so he could rub his staff along her entrance. 

Arya bit her lower lip and began a tentative roll of her hips over his throbbing member. 

“I fucking love…” he paused to catch his breath as she pressed her inner lips over the tip and moaned, “Love everything about you, Arya Stark.” 

“I need you, Jon,” she keened as she sank lower. 

Her inner walls clenched around him as Jon grasped her waist and pulled her fully onto him. 

Arya’s eyes clenched shut and her nails dug into his shoulders as Jon pushed past her barrier. 

There he waited, struggling to breathe, to _think_ , about anything but how tight she felt, how perfect she was, the way she fit him in a way no one else had. 

He wished he had waited, gods how he wished he had. He wished he hadn’t given in to despair and tried to fuck away the yearning he felt for his cousin. The other women hadn’t been enough, only tore the hole deeper, until he knew nothing would satisfy him, no one but _her_. 

“Only you,” he promised against her ear, as his fingers found her nub and circled the bundle of nerves. “Always you.” 

Arya’s breath tickled his skin as she moaned and lifted slowly up on her knees. Her hands slid down to his scarred chest and her long eyelashes fluttered as she said, “Show me how.”

Jon ran a hand through her tangled hair and drew her closer as they lay back down. He drew his knees up for leverage. “Like this…”

He guided her hips to meet his with the first shallow thrusts, jaw clenched as he sought control. 

Arya moved slowly at first, lips parted as her breasts rubbed against his chest. He longed to draw her nipples into his mouth, he yearned to pound into her until she cried his name. 

_Later_.

They had the rest of their lives to perfect this. 

Being with her however she would allow him was more than Jon had ever dared dream for. 

“You’re perfect,” he said.

Arya gasped as he began to lengthen his thrusts. She caught his new rhythm almost immediately with a wicked smile. She kissed him then said, “You’re mine.”

It took every ounce of restraint Jon possessed not to claim her roughly, desperately, then. 

_Not yet._

Determined, he let her set the pace, surprised when something dark flashed through her grey eyes. 

She shifted up slightly, bearing her weight on hands at either side of his neck, then snapped her hips in a way that made him see stars. “Like this?”

“Gods yes,” Jon choked. 

Arya’s smile turned playful and then faltered as Jon renewed his attention to her nub. “Seven hells!” 

Jon met her with deep thrusts and thought he could do this forever. 

_Let me love you forever,_ he nearly said. 

_Not yet._

Gods, but they had time now, time to...to…

Arya’s inner walls suddenly rippled and pulled at him, drawing him even deeper than before as a high-pitched cry poured from her parted mouth. 

Jon couldn’t hold on long, not when she was coming undone before him, _because_ of him, over him. 

He came with a hoarse cry of her name, a prayer to his god on his lips. He came in what seemed endless spurts, more powerfully and fully than he ever had by his or anyone’s hand. 

He’d never dared hope she would accept him this way, and maybe it was the impossibility of it or the inevitability that brought him to perfect completion. 

They clung to each other as the aftershocks washed over them, tangled in his sheets skin cooling in the breeze. 

Jon’s hand traced lazy circles over Arya’s back and clung her to her waist with his free arm. 

Arya sighed deeply as she ran her hand over his arm. 

Jon’s cheeks hurt from smiling, but he couldn’t seem to stop. 

So many nights they had shared this past week curled up in bed together. It had been a struggle for Jon to keep his hands from tracing her. As she’d slept, he dared run feather-light touches over her lower back, or to trace the contours of her face. He’d wanted to memorize her, in case she decided to leave him in the end. He hadn’t been sure, hadn’t _known_ until he read her letters. 

“Oh,” she gasped as he’d softened enough to pull from her entrance. 

Jon breathed a laugh and tipped her chin up to meet her gaze. “Don’t worry, it won’t take me long to be ready for you again.” 

Arya huffed, rolled her eyes, and smacked his upper chest as she shifted to rest on her elbow over him. “We’re going to be very sticky down here, aren’t we?”

Jon’s smile grew as he teased, “We’ll make more of a mess before I’m through with you, love.”

Arya pinched her lips shut and wrinkled her nose slightly. 

Jon lifted his head to kiss it. “Or we could strip the sheets, put on new ones, and take a shower?”

“Yes, _please_. I don’t know how soon I can handle _that_ down there again.” She yelped as he squeezed her round arse. 

“Oh, there are many other things we can do together before you’re ready to try _that_ again.” 

Arya narrowed her eyes but couldn’t hide the curl of her lips as she replied, “Suppose I’d be willing to try those things, so long as you beg nicely.”

The hunger for her flared to life within him, and he couldn’t help running a hand from her arse to cup her sensitive mound. “I’d do anything for you.”

Arya smiled. “I know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope it was worth the wait, friends! Thank you so much to everyone who has read and reviewed and left kudos. You guys are the reason I do this <3 Next is the Epilogue!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I can't remember a time in my life when I didn't completely love you...

Arya arched her back with a soft moan as she came fully awake the following afternoon. 

She blinked past blurred vision and turned from the dappled sunlight piercing Jon's bedroom curtains, to the empty side of the bed her lover had occupied. 

She smiled and winced at the acute but pleasant ache between her thighs. She should have protested more, after the first two times. She hadn't been ready for him to claim her again, not until Jon had used his mouth twice more throughout the night. 

They'd come together again in the early morning hours. 

At one point, Arya ordered Jon to fetch her food from the kitchens. Due to her "condition," she'd been quite unable to aid him in their petty thievery. She snorted as she recalled the sheepish look on his face as he returned laden with food, and the fact Rickon had been in the kitchens when he arrived. 

_"I thought he left earlier!"_

_"Sansa and Bran went to town. Rick stayed behind, hoping to catch us to apologize."_

Arya wasn't sure what her little brother thought of the love bites that littered Jon's neck. According to Jon, Rick had seemed ready to laugh while poking fun at Jon's lack of appearance and need for food. 

_"I swear he knows, Arya."_

She ran a hand over the dips and creases in their second ruined set of sheets. Today they'd need to start looking at responsible adultish things, like laundry, and family, and what the hells they wanted to do next. But for now...

Her gaze caught on Jon's pillow, and the folded paper waiting with her name written in bold letters.

She winced as she sat up against the pillows and headboard and retrieved Jon's note. 

Her breath caught as she opened the paper and began to read...

> Dear Arya,
> 
> I can't remember a time in my life when I didn't completely love you. 
> 
> They didn't let me hold you the day you were born, but I saw you had dark hair, not red, and I was desperate to see you for myself. So I hid, and after Catelyn and my uncle went to bed, I came to your crib.
> 
> You opened your eyes and looked at me, and I know it sounds mad, but I felt it even then. I swore I'd do anything for you, if you'd only let me keep you. 
> 
> I wanted to be like Robb, like Uncle Benjen, and Ned Stark as a boy. But no matter how hard I tried, no matter how much better at hunting or swordplay I was, none of it made a difference.
> 
> I felt alone all my life, Arya, except when I was with you. 
> 
> I know it was wrong, because we were young. Gods, you were _too young_ , and believe me, I've spent enough time beating myself up for the way I felt about you.
> 
> But I couldn't help it.
> 
> The way I felt for you changed so suddenly, it honestly scared the hells out of me. 
> 
> You were like my little sister, and my best, maybe _only_ true friend in this world.
> 
> Until the weekend we went camping in the Wolfwood.
> 
> I forgot to pack a sleeping bag, too damned worried about our tent and hunting gear. You laughed at me like it was no big deal to share a sleeping bag.
> 
> I was nervous, and terrified you would notice and wonder why. I didn't fully understand why. Until that night when you slipped into my arms and I could feel every beautiful curve and told me all your secrets like I was worthy to keep them. 
> 
> I think I fell in love with you fully that night, as a man loves a woman, though I couldn't admit it until much later.
> 
> For the next three years, I lived through each of the seven hells for the fucking bliss I felt when you were with me. I started to dare to dream we could have more, that I could make you feel more in time. 
> 
> Until Cat found out and gave me a choice, join the service or never see you again. 
> 
> If I was a selfish man, I would have asked you to run away with me. So many times I nearly did, but I could never take you away from your family, love. Not even now that I feel like a stranger in our childhood home. I only came home for you. 
> 
> I'm not ready to tell you what happened after I left. Someday I will. 
> 
> For now, I beg you to have patience with me. 
> 
> For now, I ask that you simply stay with me, Arya. Whether that means we follow our list together, sail for Nymerios, or never leave Winterfell again, stay _with_ me. 
> 
> Allow me this, and I swear by the old gods, I will never leave you again. I will do anything I must to give you the life you want, whatever that may look like. I think you know I belong to you wholly. I wish you would let me possess you just as fully as you have me. 
> 
> Would you give me forever? 
> 
> Love,
> 
> Jon

"Arya?" 

She looked up, and Jon was suddenly there at the edge of the bed, waiting. 

Arya's heart pounded as his words replayed, now imprinted in her heart. 

Jon's knuckles were white where he gripped the breakfast tray between his hands. 

She blinked and tears spilled over her cheeks. 

Jon's brow furrowed as Arya climbed naked to her knees on the bed, and said, "Put that on the floor." 

His nostrils flared as he glanced from her to the letter before he obeyed. 

She didn't wait for him to fully stand again. 

Her arms snaked around his neck as she dragged Jon onto the bed and covered his face with kisses. 

"Arya," he gasped as she covered his mouth with a deeper kiss, full of promise. 

She pulled away to find him looking at her the way she'd always dreamed he would, the way no one ever had or could look at her, as though she was his _everything_. 

A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth as she found the right words to say, "Can I keep you forever?"

"Always," he said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sighs... I can't believe we're finally here! Again, I'm sorry I wasn't able to finish this sooner, but I've come to find some stories are worth waiting for. Sometimes, it's better to stew on the words and the characters until the timing is right. That has been my experience with writing "Dear Jon..." anyway :) A thousand thanks to my lovely Jonrya fam over at Tumblr, and especially Rhaenyra-Snow. 
> 
> For more Jonrya, stay tuned for upcoming updates for The Red Hood! I'm using NaNoWriMo to help keep me accountable and finally finish my fav of my newer fics. Hope to see you there :)


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